Idle Engine
The car idles at the curb, headlights cutting a pale line across the empty street. Driver’s door open. No one inside.
He slows his walk. Checks the sidewalk. Checks the windows. Nothing moves.
The engine hums steady, low.
He glances around again—no cops, no pedestrians. Just sodium lamps and wet asphalt. He steps closer. Peers through the glass. Back seat empty. Passenger seat empty.
Music drifts from the radio, sounding far away.
Every breath you take...
He slides into the driver’s seat. Pulls the door shut. The locks engage with a soft click he didn’t trigger.
The leather is warm.
He shifts into drive, checking the mirror. Street behind him: empty. He pulls away from the curb. Too easy.
Every move you make...
Three blocks and he’s breathing normal. Five blocks and he’s thinking about where to dump it. The radio plays on, that eighties synth-pop he half-remembers.
Every bond you break, every step you take...
The passenger seat is depressed. Leather compressed like someone just sat down.
He stares. The seatbelt tensioner clicks. Extends across empty air.
His foot eases off the gas.
I’ll be watching you...
The windows fog from the inside, spreading from the passenger side first.
The radio volume increases. Just enough that the words wrap clearer now.
Oh can’t you see, you belong to me...
The rearview mirror shows the back seat. There’s a shadow there that wasn’t there before. It sits perfectly still.
“Who’s there?”
The passenger seat depresses further. The center console lid opens by itself.
Inside: A phone showing a live location dot of this car moving.
And beneath: two Polaroids.
Different people. Both behind this wheel. Both with eyes wide.
The glove box falls open. A camera inside, already loaded.
The shadow leans forward. Cold pressure against his neck.
The locks click deeper.
Every game you play, every night you stay...
His exit is three blocks ahead. He signals. The turn signal cancels itself. The wheel pulls right, correcting his course.
I’ll be watching you...
The camera whirs. Self-timer engaged.
He sees his own eyes in the mirror—wide with horror.
The flash pops.
The radio plays on.
—Sal
Woohoo! That was a ride!